In this dark and smoky room, I have lost my senses of sight, smell, and hearing. I have nothing left but to feel and to taste, and there’s nothing else that I’d yearn to do both than you.
And it seems easy tonight. I learn, from mere observation, that if I learn how to sway my hips in the right direction, bend my knees to the right beats, and move my head to the right rhythm; I would have you. And god knows exactly how long I’ve been waiting for that.
But it’s not that easy. Because if it were, I would get out of this corner and have you. I would keep this pen and toss this letter and grab you from behind and place my burnt lips on your neck. I would keep these thoughts where they are because I don’t usually go to places like these and it would suck if this rarity is met with my usual wallflower tendencies.
So let me get 15 minutes to get my act together. Drown my inhibitions in liquified bravery, and cough them all out through the smokes of feigned machismo. Let me finish this tissue paper rant while you have your last hurrah of tasting and feeling other boys. In a quarter of an hour’s time, I’ll be ready, I’m sure of it, even if I’m not particularly confident of my swaying, bending and moving.
Tonight, I get to have you.
Will you have me, too?